Fugue: X-Men
by The Duchess Of The Dark
Summary: Helena & Logan are hustling & brawling their way about Canada when they run into Rogue. Mostly the events of the movie, but with some twists. Sequel to 'Prelude: A Canadian Tale'
1. Default Chapter

Title: Fugue: X-Men

Author: The Duchess Of The Dark  
Teaser: (during the movie) Rogue meets Logan and Helena in snowy Canada. They are attacked by Sabretooth, rescued by the X-Men, and well, you more or less know the rest . There's some little twists and different slants on events caused by the presence of an extra non-canon character. This story assumes familiarity with the movie ('cos I'm damn lazy).

Rating: NC-17 for language and violence.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Marvel Comics and Fox. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Helena Draven and her 'remembered' friends are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. Alternative scenario of the movie. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires 

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.  
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Although I'm a 'struggling writer' by trade, this is my first assumes the events in "X-Men" take place around 2010. Sorry if I screw with the geography of Canada, it wasn't my strongest subject in school! If you don't understand the English slang, mail mail me at the­_duchess_of_the_ Text in _Italics_ indicates thought. Italic text in apostrophes _'italic'_ indicates telepathic conversation. Oh, and my Logan is tall, dammit!! Can't be doing with short-arse men. Second of a trilogy, first is Prelude: A Canadian Tale, last is Lucidity: Renascence.

*

Inwardly fuming, outwardly scowling fiercely enough to melt glass, Logan glanced at the cold, scared teenager sat next to him. Huddled inside her travel-filthy coat on the trailer seat, she was warming her hands on the small fan heater in the dashboard. She had just inhaled a full packet of chocolate cookies with the voracious appetite of someone unaccustomed to true hunger, cramming them into her mouth with thankful little sighs. He knew she was a mutant, had known since he took a good noseful of her scent back in Loughlin City. She had got herself mixed up in a scuffle between him and some disgruntled cage fighters who had realised he was a mutant. He had popped his claws and ended the matter, bisecting the bar owner's shotgun along the way. The kid, who called herself 'Rogue', confirmed she was a mutant when he had reached out to pull her freezing hands to the heater and she jumped like a scalded cat.

"Relax, kid," he had said. "I ain't gonna hurt yer."

"Something happens when people touch my skin. They get hurt," she had whispered in her soft Southern drawl, not elaborating any further.

Turning on the wipers to clear some of the snow from the windscreen, he reflected on how he had managed to pick up another stray. She had hidden in the bike trailer attached to the back, shivering under the tarpaulin until he had stopped and discovered her stowing away.

"Get out," he had ordered, throwing her lumpily-packed bag on the hard snowy ground.

"Where'm ah supposed t'go?" she had asked, obediently clambering out of the bike trailer.

"I dunno," he had shrugged.

The kid had fixed him with huge, melting brown eyes, pleading, begging him not to leave her behind.

"You dunno, or you don't care?"

"Pick one," he had snapped, disregarding her sudden, involuntary flinch.

Turning his back, he had stalked back to the driver's side, leaving her abandonned in the middle of the road, facing a long hard trek in the bitter cold and snow to the nearest town.

"Ah saved ya life!" she had cried desperately.

"No yer didn't," he had growled.

A hundred yards down the snow-packed road, seeing her forlorn figure in the rearview mirror, he had stopped and let her get in. Feeling the nervous, curious glances she was flicking at him, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. She had already asked him about his claws, ironically enough asking if they hurt.

_This is yer fault, Hels,_ he thought accusingly. _Yer've turned me into a push-over. I may as well start a damn menagerie for runaway mutie kids with puppy-dog eyes._

Peering through the thickening snowfall for the turn-off he wanted, he turned to Rogue, who shrank back in her seat the merest fraction. She trusted him more than she did the rednecks in the bar, but was still unsure. Like many teenagers who suddenly found themselves developing mutant powers, she was jumpy and uncomfortable around people.

"Just gonna pick up a friend," he informed her tersely.

The teenager's chocolate brown eyes widened and she stiffened, fearfully imagining what kind of 'friend' it could be. She was a long way from her home and family, having got so far on luck and a stash of saved pocket money, but all the instructions about not trusting strangers because of the horrible things that happened to young girls were at the forefront of her mind.

"Relax, kid," Wolverine said for the second time. "You'll like her… she's English."

Rogue looked less uneasy at the prospect, working on the naïve assumption that another woman would not do anything nasty to her. Looking through the snowy windscreen, she spied a lone figure in an ankle-length leather coat and thick hat pulled down over her ears, a bulky bag at her feet. Behind her, indistinct in the near distance, was another ramshackle bar with a neon Canadian Gold sign in the window. The camper sighed to a grumbling halt and she stepped up to open the door. She stopped short and looked at Rogue, her eyebrows disappearing beneath the cuff of her black fur deerstalker hat. The Southern girl looked back and swallowed, squirming at the piercing scrutiny of her clear hazel green eyes.

"Are yer gettin' in or what?" Wolverine demanded.

Shuffling along to allow the other woman in, Rogue found herself sandwiched between two people she did not know – at least one of whom was an extremely dangerous mutant. The dangerous mutant in question grunted disparagingly and restarted the trailer. Eyes softening, the English woman pulled off her hat as they moved away, releasing an unruly mass of very long curling brown hair.

"Marie, isn't it?" she asked, her accent completely incongruous to the Canadian wilds. Her gaze grew momentarily distant, eyes making small, involuntary tracking movements. "Why d'you call yourself 'Rogue' when you've got such a pretty name?"

Startled, heart suddenly pounding, Marie's brown eyes flew up, fingers screwing the fabric of her coat. The English woman laid a soothing hand on her arm and smiled.

"It's alright," she reassured. "I'm in the same club as Logan there." She tapped a leather-gloved finger to her temple. "I'm telepathic. I sometimes forget myself and say things to people I shouldn't."

"Damn right," he growled, shooting her a disbelieving glower.

Ignoring the comment, she peeled off her gloves and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, sticking her tongue out at him when he turned his attention back to the road. Looking at Rogue, she winked, causing her to bite her lip so she did not grin.

"I'm Helena," she said. "And I'm far nicer than that grouchy bugger sat next to you… less hairy, too."

Rogue stifled a giggle, deciding she liked the English mutant. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost secure. Drawn to Wolverine, despite the brutality he had displayed cage fighting and the metal claws he had nearly taken out a man's throat with, she had gained a ride and possibly two friends.

"I'd like to tell you he doesn't bite," Helena mock-whispered conspiratorially, nodding towards him. "But I'd be lying."

Fishing in her bag, she produced a red thermos flask, unscrewed the top and poured steaming tea into the cup. Handing it to Rogue, who gratefully folded her chilled fingers around it, she eyed her knowingly.

"So, d'you wanna tell us why a Southern girl like yourself is in Canada in the depths of the big freeze?"

Sipping hot tea, feeling it thaw her from the inside out, Marie shook her head quickly. She had a feeling if she did try to explain, she would only start crying.

"Okay, sweetie," the English mutant comforted. "I understand. It's difficult for all of us when we find we can do things 'normal' people can't."

Drinking a little more tea, the teenager realised Helena knew she was a mutant and was not afraid of her. The thought was comforting. She began wondering what it was like to be able to read people's minds. Blowing on the tea, she was lost in a world of what-if's and possibilities.

'_Where'd you pick this one up?'_

Logan suppressed an instinctive jump as Helena's telepathic voice rang in his head. It always made him wince if he was not expecting it.

'_Gimme a break, English. It's yer fault I've gotten soft. Anyway, she's out at the next town.'_

Quiet laughter echoed in his mind, creating purple sparkles behind his eyes.

'_Where've I heard that before? This poor kid's been through a lot, Logan – her mutancy is exceptionally dangerous. And yes, before you ask, I have been snooping in her head, but only a little – I do have ethics.'_

Logan snorted out loud, causing Rogue to burn her tongue on her tea. Experimentally tonguing the roof of her mouth to assess the damage, she winced, finding an irregular smooth patch on the tip.

"Y'know," she observed, looking at them in turn. "Ya really should wear ya seatbelts."

Before either could respond, a massive dead oak tree toppled into the road directly before the trailer. Rogue cried out as the brakes screeched and the two seatbelt-less mutants shot head first through the windscreen in an explosive silver shower of broken glass. Thrown violently forward, the breath jarred from her lungs with the impact, she raised her head to see them lying motionless in the snow.

_Lord, they're dead! _she thought with rising panic, fumbling with her seatbelt.

Suddenly, Wolverine's arm twitched spasmodically and he levered himself up with a vicious curse. Crawling over to the English mutant, he brushed the uneven casing of snow from her face and helped her stand. Stunned, the Southern girl stared incredulously at them, watching their various facial wounds pucker and flawlessly seal in moments.

"Hey, kid!" he called, chest heaving, beard frosted with snow. "Y'alright?"

"I'm stuck!" she yelled back, tugging at the seatbelt, which obstinately refused to unfasten.

A strange, bestial musk reaching his sensitive nose, Wolverine's claws instinctively popped, echoed by Helena's. Alert for danger, acute senses straining for minute signs of whoever was concealed in the tangle of trees and bushes, they sniffed the air in unison.

"They're close," Helena hissed, shifting from foot to foot, eyes narrowed against the increasing blizzard. "I can smell them… over ther-"

With a resounding bass roar, a dark-maned giant dressed in shaggy tawny wolf furs leapt from the forest, swinging a large limbless tree trunk like a club. Caught squarely in the midsection, Logan catapulted backwards, landing on the bonnet of the trailer with a reverberating thud, clawed hands thrown out in seeming benediction. Bouncing heavily to the ground, he groaned and lay still. Long white fangs bared, the giant advanced on the English mutant, towering over her. He swung the trunk and missed as she threw herself flat, the dense wood whistling over her head. His eyes were unrelieved black, no iris, no white, simply solid shining jet.

Spitting out a mouthful of snow, fighting to rein in her fear, Helena concentrated on the log. The huge fanged mutant snarled as it was jerked out of his grasp by invisible hands, pitched away out of reach. Gritting her teeth, she launched herself at him, slashing for his throat with her adamantium claws. A rumbling sound akin to laughter issued from his chest and he lashed out, a lion lazily batting away a recalcitrant cub. Gasping at the sudden searing pain beneath her ribs, balanced by frigid winter air on skin, the English mutant heard the hissing pop of an igniting fire. She darted a glance back at the trailer, realising to her horror that the can of motor oil kept in the back had gone up and Rogue was trapped. Detecting new scents, she squinted through the blizzard at two black leather-clad forms, one white-haired, the other wearing some sort of visor. An immense dark-clawed paw caught her under the chin, violet stars exploding in her head, and everything went black.

*

Dr Jean Grey lifted the unconscious young woman's arm, manipulating the fingers and muscles of the wrist. When she failed to produce the deadly adamantium claws she knew lay concealed inside the deceptively slender limb, she raised an eyebrow and held up her hand. A hypodermic rose into the air from a small steel instrument cart and floated into her palm. She looked down at the comatose mutant, noting her athletic musculature. There was no sign of the gaping wound that had laid open her ribcage down to the bone. Slim, with pre-Raphaelite chestnut brown hair and a light dusting of freckles, she hardly seemed capable of taking on Sabretooth like Scott and Ororo had reported.

'_You're lucky you have a healing factor,'_ Jean told her silently, slipping the needle into a vein to draw a blood sample. _'Or I would have been performing an autopsy.'_

Rubbing at her neck, still feeling the impression of five iron fingers on her windpipe, she hoped this patient would be less volatile when she woke.

_He can't be so bad,_ she thought. _After all, he could of popped my skull with those claws and he didn't. I wonder what Magneto wants with them? Like the Professor says, there are more powerful mutants._

Like any cornered wild animal, the first clawed mutant, Logan, had attacked and fled through the shining metal sublevels. Guided up into the mansion building and into the Professor's classroom, he had stopped short when faced with a dozen curious teenagers and Xavier's benign gaze.

"What kinda place is this?" he had demanded, all coiled muscle and tension.

"You're in my School For The Gifted," Xavier had returned calmly, activating his wheelchair to drone out from behind the desk. "You'll be safe here from Magneto."  
Logan's explosive hazel eyes had narrowed as if he was debating whether or not to leap across the room and pummel the bald scientist into unconsciousness as he listened to Xavier's explanation of events. His only concession to surprise had been when Kitty Pryde returned to collect a forgotten text book and phased straight through the door.

"Whatsa 'Magneto'?"

"A very powerful mutant. He believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I've been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabretooth."  
"Where's Helena and the kid?" he had growled, unimpressed. "If you've hurt…"

"They're quite well," Xavier had assured. "Helena has yet to wake, but Dr Grey tells me she will do so shortly. Rogue is attending class. You may see them whenever you wish."

Summoned by the Professor's inaudible telepathic call, the X-Men had entered the room to be introduced in turn. Logan had eyed them, instantly dismissing Scott Summers as a pretty-boy, but becoming more interested when presented with Ororo's snow-haired exotic beauty.

"Storm, right? Sabretooth…" he had said, not making any attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice as he turned to the Professor. "Whadda they call you – Wheels? This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Recalling his gaze travelling appraisingly over her, lingering over her hips, Jean chided herself for feeling a small charge of excitement. She was used to attracting admiring looks, but coming from the feral, wild-haired mutant, it had almost made her blush. Knowing Scott had noticed Logan gazing frankly at her, his expression unreadable behind his ruby quartz glasses, Jean made a mental note to talk to him. She did not want a single lascivious glance to escalate into a jealous feud, which was more than likely if Logan kept goading him at every opportunity. At the moment, the Professor was taking him on a tour of the school and extensive grounds.

Easing the needle from the vein, watching as the tiny puncture instantly healed, Jean neatly labelled the sample and sent it zipping through the air to the test tube rack. Without warning, the prostrate woman sat bolt upright, her claws shooting from between her knuckles before her eyes had fully opened.

_I should've expected this,_ Jean thought self-rebukingly, heart pouding as the adamantium talons missed her face by scant inches.

Leaping from the cold metal table to crouch in the corner, blazing hazel green eyes darting left to right, taking in the medical instruments and machines, the stark silvery alloy walls, the clawed mutant's gaze fell on Jean. Holding up her hands pacifyingly, she took a step towards her.

"It's alright," she said, seeing the other woman's eyes narrow dangerously. "You're safe. I'm a doctor."

As soon as she spoke, Jean inwardly kicked herself. Many mutants had more reason to distrust doctors than any other profession on earth. Very much awake, poised to attack or flee, the fierce spark of survival instinct and intelligence animating her features, the English mutant scowled. Moistening her dry lips, looking down at the flimsy hospital-style gown she wore, the young woman cleared her throat.

"Where am I?" she demanded in a soft English accent. "And who the bloody hell are you?"

Jean smiled warmly, relieved she had not been leapt upon and mauled, and ventured to approach and help her to her feet. Confused and highly suspicious, she allowed the assistance, but did not retract her claws. Pupils dilating, her forehead developed the concentrated wrinkle of a telepath attempting to sweep another's thoughts. Sensing her mind pushing against hers, Jean let down her mental shields a fraction, transmitting enough information to allay her fears.

"Xavier's School For The Gifted?" she repeated aloud, quizzically. "Dr Jean Grey?"

She retracted her claws with a sibilant metallic whisper and cocked her head enquiringly, pushing a wing of dark hair from her eyes. Of a considerably calmer temperament than her travelling companion, she appeared to consider her options, bouncing on her bare toes.

"So is the Prof really an industrial-strength telepath or what?"

Laughing, Jean took off her white labcoat and beckoned towards the door.

"Let me find you some clothes and I'll take you to meet him… and your bad-tempered friend."

Helena grimaced, noticing faint blue bruises developing on the doctor's throat. Slim and classically elegant in a tight red lambswool sweater and black knee-length skirt, she was collected and professional without seeming impersonal. Deciding to smile and nod in appropriate places, the English mutant followed her out of the medical bay.

*

Flanked by his X-Men, Charles Xavier regarded the twin X-ray images of a male and female skeleton on the overhead screen of the war room. Even an untrained eye would notice something unusual about them, from the tiny serial number on the base of the male skull to the peculiar opacity of the bones themselves.

"He appears to have had adamantium surgically laced to his skeleton," Jean was saying calmly, her cool professional veneer masking her abhorrence at what such an operation would have entailed.

"Experiments on mutants," Xavier said grimly, angry and disgusted. "It's not unheard of. But I've never seen anything like this before."

Visibly horrified, lustrous brown eyes crinkling beneath her shocking white hair, Storm looked from her to the Professor.

"How could he have survived the procedure?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Unchartered regenerative abilities," Jean clarified. "It also means we have no way of telling how old either of them are…. They could be older than you, Professor."

Xavier steepled his fingers before his nose reflectively, unsurprised by the revelation.

"There are more powerful mutants out there. Why should they be so important?" he mused aloud.

Cyclops gave a barely audible snort, arms folded across his chest.

"Maybe it's Logan's way with people."

The Professor turned to look at his protégé, sensing bubbling resentment and dislike. It was unusual for Summers to take an instant dislike to anyone.

"You don't like him?" he asked quietly.  
"How could you tell?" Cyclops asked sarcastically.  
"Well, I am psychic, you know," Xavier responded, displaying a shadow of dry humour.

Ruby quartz glasses winking in the subdued light, Scott relented and gave a brief smile, pointing at the second image of the female skeleton. Discernibly different from the first, it lacked serial numbers.

"What about the English girl?" he asked. "I'm no doctor, but her skeleton looks different."

Jean nodded, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"Her skeleton seems to be _coated_ somehow, rather than surgically augmented. There are no signs of invasive procedures or tool marks on the adamantium. My best guess is she somehow absorbed it, though all my preliminary tests indicate she is a just TP, TK mutant with a healing factor and enhanced senses – which is unusual in itself. Multiple-gifted mutants with physical and psychic abilities are relatively Professor thinks it's likely her X-gene has been tinkered with, which theoretically could produce anomalous one-off effects."

Listening to his X-Men discuss the two metal-boned newcomers, Xavier looked at the X-rays and flipped through copies of the test results.

_What do you want with them, Erik?_ he thought. _Of what possible use could they be? If it's their adamantium you want, there are easier ways to get it. Logan may side with you if approached in the right way, but Helena… no, she wouldn't, which makes it highly unlikely Logan would either. For all his faults, he's loyal to those he trusts. What do you want, Erik, what are you planning?_

*

"Scott!" Jean flushed a pale raspberry pink and snatched her hands away from Logan's temples, head filled with painful surgical procedures, immersion tanks and restraints.

Cyclops looked from his fiancée to the infuriating slight grin on the muttonchop-bearded mutant's face, contemplating whether or not the Professor would fire him if he whipped off his ruby quartz Oakley glasses and killed him. Flustered, Jean edged past him and fled, her heels clicking on the dark varnished boards of the landing. The grin on Logan's face became wider as he saw how much he had provoked the straight-laced leader of the X-Men. Although Summer's expression remained carefully neutral, a change in his scent betrayed his irritation and instinctive male possessiveness.

"Yer going ta tell me ta stay away from yer girl?" he taunted.

Controlling his temper, he wondered why the clawed mutant nettled him so much. Other men had repeatedly tried and failed to steal Jean in the past and he had always dismissed the possibility one day someone might succeed. Logan looked like the persistant type.

"If I had to do that, she wouldn't be my girl," he responded evenly, ignoring the other man's wolfish smile as he turned to leave.

"Well, then I guess yer've got nuthin' ta worry about, do yer, Cyclops?"

Scott paused, feeling a sudden swell of anger in his chest. Against his better judgement, he turned back.

"It must burn you up that a boy like me saved your life, huh? Gotta be careful. Might not be there next time. Oh, and Logan – stay away from my girl."

Pointedly, he strode away, barely acknowledging the Canadian mutant's English travelling companion as he passed her on the stairs. Catching an impression of his emotions, Helena sighed, suppressing a smile. Making her way across the airy landing, savouring the mishmash of wood varnish, clean bedlinen from a nearby closet and the unique odour of a truly old building, she toed open the door of Logan's tiny attic room. Looking up, he inclined his head to invite her in, absently pulling at the wild points of his hair.

"Well, if you wanted to piss off Cyclops, congratulations," she remarked, stepping over the threshold.

Logan merely gave a wicked almost-smile in response, making her laugh in spite of her resolution not to do so. Plopping down onto the bed, hearing the worn springs squeak in protest, she crossed her ankles.

"This is new," he commented, peering into the recesses of the wardrobe, the open door releasing a waft of mothball odour.

"What?"

"You in somethin' other than black."

Helena's brows dipped, and she smoothed the emerald green sweater she was wearing.

"Okay, Jean Paul Gaultier – It's Jean's…and she's Scott's." _The fact you wanna screw her until her head falls off is written across your forehead in twelve foot neon, you stupid bugger. There's at least three telepaths in this place and you're broadcasting lust like a longwave radio!_

"So?" he countered, causing her to shake her head mock-dispairingly.

Watching as he thoroughly explored the small box room, opening the window to test for ease of exit, sniffing almost every surface, she waited until he had finished and sat heavily on the opposite side of the bed.

"Yer had the tour an' lecture?" he asked.

She nodded, "Yeah. All very laudable and super-heroish … I'd be suspicious if I wasn't so sure Xavier meant every word he said."

Logan frowned, but nodded in agreement, poking a lump out of the pillow. Outside on the landing, a trio of teenaged girls wandered noisily past, towels under their arms as they headed for the showers. Waiting until they had passed, the English mutant looked back, worry showing in her eyes. In her borrowed sweater and school-issue sweatpants, her hair untidily scraped into a ponytail, she looked like a student who had missed an assignment deadline.

"What does this Magneto character want with us?"

"Dunno, Hels," Logan shrugged nonchalantly. "I know one thing fer sure – if 'Sabretooth' shows up again, I'm gonna gut the fucker." _Fer takin' me by surprise an' hurtin' you._

She shivered at the mention of the giant mutant's name, recalling the animal barbarity in his black mirror eyes, the almost complete absence of humanity. Seeing her hug her elbows as if to ward off cold, which due to her healing factor she did not really suffer with, he touched her shoulder.

"Hey – I won't let that overgrown hairball hurt yer again," he promised.

Shaking her head, she forced a smile, toying with the cuffs of her sweater. His sense of outrage at being caught out, for not being able to land so much as a retaliatory blow, was palpable.

"It's not that…" she broke off and shook her head again. "It's just when he jumped us… He recognised us, Logan – he knew who we were, especially you. I got the distinct impression you've had something to do with him in the past."

He stared at her, a certain dark quality to his expression communicating his certainty that whatever occurred involving Sabretooth could not be good. Looking back into the fractured abyss of his memory, at all the faceless things done to and by him, his hands curled into fists.

"Yer said he recognised you too?"

She nodded, troubled, thinking of the decade-long fissure in her own memory, wondering what she could have done in ten years that caused someone like Sabretooth to recognise her.

"Yeah, I didn't catch much of anything – but when he looked at me, he thought 'Raven'." She grinned humourlessly. "What is it with the silly code names, anyway?"

Both mutants were silent, pondering the ramifications, staring at their fists and the claws contained within.

"Jean and the Prof think somebody's been messing about with my X-gene," Helena said at length.

"That's what makes us muties, right?"

She nodded unhappily and swung her sneaker-clad feet, blowing out her cheeks.

"Yeah… Jean was twittering a load of scientific guff, going on about how that's the likeliest explanation of why I absorbed your adamantium. Genetic manipulation isn't an exact science, it can produce nasty surprises."

Logan frowned, his hand coming up to where he usually kept his cigars in his breast pocket. Realising he was wearing a school sweatshirt, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in his lap.

"Yer told her that? Dontcha think that's a bit risky? We don't know if we can trust these geeks," he growled.

"She knew anyway. They don't have all these medical machines for nothing."

Huffing dismissively at the back of his throat, Logan inclined his head thoughtfully.

"So all yer gifts could've been cooked up in a test tube?" he asked, sounding unconvinced.

Helena shook her head, then pulled a disgusted face and shrugged.

"Nah. They're more or less certain I've always been TP, TK with a healing factor – sommat about the base DNA sequences being almost impossible to artificially reproduce, i.e., you can tell if they're forced mutancies. It's just the whole absorbing the hardest metal in the world and producing an integral set of cutlery that's got one huge question mark over it." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Like I don't have enough question marks over me already… I also heard the Prof muttering about you."

The Canadian mutant shrugged unconcernedly, "Don't take a genius ta figure out somebody's been ta work on me, darlin'."

"Maybe," she allowed, then frowned and scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands. "I dunno, all this heavy talk. I think I was happier living in blissful ignorance – now my brain is doing overtime with all these possibilities. Bloody Xavier and his half-arsed crusade."

Collecting herself, she looked up and forced her lips to curve in a poor imitation of a grin. Knowing the look in her eyes heralded mischief, Logan waited expectantly.

"D'you know something," she said conspiratorially. "I took a trip to the kitchens before and found where Cyke stashes his beer. It's not Canadian Gold, but it's cold and alcoholic… Shall we?"

Logan's face brightened at the prospect of drinking cool beer and annoying Summers in one fell swoop. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of the grey school-issue zip-up sweatshirt he wore, he sauntered to the door.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day, English."

*

Rogue watched as the two clawed mutants headed past the rec room door towards the kitchen and took another sip of her cherry Kool-Aid. She liked Helena a lot, she was funny and kind without being patronising, but also scary. Rogue found it difficult to reconcile her image of the black-clad, slightly eccentric Englishwoman with the cold adamantium claws she had extruded before lunging at Sabretooth like a cornered bird of prey. Logan was different. She had known he was dangerous from the moment she saw him dribble another man about like a football. He frightened her, but she was also drawn to him. Rogue sighed. She was just beginning to stop jumping at every little noise, but felt it had more to do with tiredness than anything else. Shunning a place on the three-seater couch directly before the television, she had pulled up a beanbag. The made-for-tv film they were watching had just been interupted by a newsflash announcement that Senator Kelly had been kidnapped by mutant subversives, prompting much muttering.

"Hey, d'you want some more ice in that?" Bobby Drake leaned over and flashed his cute baby-blues, already extending his hand to partially freeze her drink.

Murmuring her thanks, she listened to Kitty Pryde and Jubilation Lee chattering. Popping bright pink gum inbetween sentences, Jubilee gestured excitedly as she was speaking.

"She's gotta stud in her tongue, I saw it when she was talking to Miss Grey. How _kewl_ is that?!" the Asian girl squealed, twirling a strand of her straight shiny black hair. "And that accent! It's almost better than the Professor's! She's not gorgeous like Miss Monroe, or classy like Miss Grey, but she's _kewl_ and that's even better!"

Rogue fought back a wince. Jubilee was friendly, bubbly, excitable and tended to squeal a lot. Sticking a finger in her ear, Kitty wiggled it and grimaced.

"Adjust the volume, Jubes," she complained. "I don't think some people in Alaska heard you."

Jubilee pouted and dug her friend in the ribs, only to find her hand passing straight through as she phased. Both girls turned to Rogue with an expectant gleam in their eyes.

"So, Rogue. What's the story on big, silent and grouchy?" Kitty asked.

"Don't forget 'clawed'," Jubilee chimed in. "Does he have any piercings you wanna tell us about?"

To her dismay, Rogue blushed a shade brighter than her Kool-Aid. Kitty frowned and poked Jubilee in the stomach for embarrassing their new room-mate.

"Ah dunno," Rogue stammered. "Ah don't know anythin' about him, really. Jus' his name."

The other girls looked deflated, deprived of their sport. Gossip concerning new mutants at the school, whether visitors, teachers or students, was hot property. Logan had spoken to Rogue only once that day, gruffly asking her if she was alright before being shown to his room by Miss Grey. Helena had spent more time with her, chatting for a half an hour until she was virtually ambushed by Jubilee and Kitty. They had bombarded the English mutant with questions, which she good-naturedly answered until Jubilee cheekily asked to see her claws. The resulting freeze of her smile had silenced even the chirpy Asian teen.

"Ah think ah'm gonna go t'bed," she announced, struggling up from the clinging grasp of the beanbag. "Nearly being burnt t'death while a giant tries t'kill ya friends makes ya kinda tired."

Carefully looping an arm through Rogue's, Kitty shot a warning glance at Jubilee.

"Yeah, it's almost curfew anyway. Night, Bobby, St John, Sam!"

An answering chorus of "night" rang out from the various chairs and couchs dotted around the large rec room. Allowing herself to be towed along the gleaming wood-floored corridor by her new friends, Rogue wondered if Logan and Helena would stay. She hoped so.

*

"So, what do you make of our visitors?" Xavier asked, reaching to pour more tea.

It was past curfew and the children were in the process of settling down for the night. He often chose this time to talk with his protégés over a steaming cup of tea or something stronger if the day had been particularly taxing. Sipping a mouthful of Earl Grey before answering, Jean Grey set down her bone china cup on the low glass-topped table.

"Logan? So much violence… but at the same time he's got, I don't know, a sense of honour, I guess," she admitted, curling her stocking feet beneath her on the firm white couch. "What d'you think?"

Xavier gave a small, wry smile and raised his cup to his lips.

"I think if you're going to read minds, there are safer places to begin than Logan's," he said mildly.

Jean's lips quirked and she nodded agreement, taking off her glasses and placing them on the coffee table.

"Mmmmm… what about Helena? I haven't been able to read much from her."

"That's hardly surprising," the Professor observed. "Her mental shielding is much more advanced than I would expect for a woman of her apparent age." He paused and gave a small, elegant shrug. "Although her exact age is open to debate."

Seeing his frown, Jean felt her heart contract. He looked tired, careworn from hours spent in Cerebro attempting to trace Magneto's whereabouts. Sensing her concern, Xavier looked up and smiled.

"I'm alright, Jean," he reassured.

"You're spending too long in Cerebro, Charles," she countered firmly, in her doctor voice. Her features softened. "I worry about you, you're not as-"

"Not as young as I used to be," Xavier finished, nodding. "I know."

Draining her cup, Jean stood, slipped her shoes back on and crossed to his desk. Leaning down, she placed an affectionate kiss on his bald pate.

"Goodnight – don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight," he echoed, watching as she reached the door, unconsciously rubbing her neck.

Waiting until she had gone, the Professor finished his tea, listening to the quiet tick of the antique grandfather clock in the corner. Setting down his cup, he hummed out from behind the desk and headed for the elevator leading to the sublevels and Cerebro.

*

Somebody was tapping insistantly at the bedroom door. Helena ignored it and buried her head deeper into the fat feather pillow. The tapping became hammering. Still drowsy, the English mutant rolled over beneath the warm blankets.

"G'way!" she grumbled, her eyes closed. "I'm asleep."

The door swung open to reveal an extremely worried-looking Storm in a long ivory nightgown and robe. Reluctantly, Helena sat up and knuckled her eyes, pushing a sleep-rumpled lick of hair from her face.

"Whassup?" she yawned, the crinkled impression of the pillow etched into her cheek.

Yawning again, she folded back the bedcovers and swung her legs over the side, wriggling her bare toes in the thick carpet.

"It's Logan," the weather goddess began, her cream liqueur voice strained. "There's been an accident. Rogue heard him having a nightmare and tried to wake him up."

Fully awake and alert, Helena's hazel green eyes widened with horror and she leaned her head in her hands.

"Oh, _shit_… not again…" she groaned. "Please, for Chrissake, tell me he didn't kill her."

Storm shook her head, white locks swinging about her slim shoulders. "No. From what we can gather she touched him and temporarily absorbed his healing factor. She would have died otherwise - he stabbed her through the chest. Rogue is physically fine, but very upset… It's Logan we're worried about – he's still unconscious."

Shoving her feet into the new sneakers given to her by Jean, Helena stood and headed for the door. Storm led the way, bare caramel feet soundless on the varnished boards, then stopped and looked back at the English mutant.

"What did you mean, 'not again'?"

Helena sighed, "It's a long story, Ororo. Let's just say Rogue's not the first person to end up shish kebabed for trying to do ol' Wolvie a favour and wake him up."

Unconsciously rubbing at her chest where three adamantium talons had punctured her lungs, she followed the willowy African mutant downstairs to the concealed lift leading to the sublevels and the infirmary.

*

Squinting with concentration, Mortimer Toynbee peered myopically at the generator engine he was working on. Rubbing his nose on the back of his hand, he scrubbed at his greenish spikey hair and turned his head. Rubbery extensile tongue hissing out, he snatched a wrench from the workbench across the cold metal room. Wiping the thin coating of viscous yellow slime from the tool, he set about tinkering with the mechanical innards. Hearing a low, discontented rumble, he looked up to see Victor Creed stumping irritably into the room. Toad's warty features crinkled and he eyed the leonine mutant resignedly, realising he was in a foul mood and would probably take it out on him. Magneto was ensconced in his vast, spartan office, fuming over the apparent loss of the newly-mutated Senator Kelly. Mystique was prowling about the echoing sheet-metal plated corridors, skulking in shadows, only the occasional gleam of golden eyes indicating her presence.

Toad shivered. He disliked Mystique, but also had a recurring wish to get close enough to see if her scales were rough or smooth. The shape-shifter was exceptionally spooky, but also enticing, sashaying about in the nude. Putting down the wrench, Mortimer suppressed a yelp as a charge of static electricity stung his hand. The entire island lair hummed with the after-effects of the mutation device. He could still feel the scorched-in impression of white hot luminance behind his amphibian eyes. Sabretooth strode up and down, growling darkly under his breath, massive shoulders bunched.

"So you dropped him," Toad remarked in his Cockney twang, making sure there was enough space for him to get through the door should Creed decide to lash out. "It doesn't matter – the Gov'nor just wanted to see if his toy worked."

Sabretooth stopped pacing and bared his yellowed fangs, reflective black eyes suffused with umbrage and fury. Closing the hatch on the generator, realising he was not likely to get any work done with Victor throwing a sulk, Toad bounded across the room in a surge of superhuman leg muscles.

"You're still pissed-off about those two clawed marks with the kid, aren't you?" he taunted. "They really got to you, didn't they? Not used to girls who fight back, are you, Creed?"

Toad stepped back, preparing to leap away from the inevitable whistling swipe of a clawed hand. It was astonishingly easy to provoke Sabretooth, who had neither the wit nor the patience to engage in verbal sparring. To his immense surprise, Creed merely rumbled discontentedly deep in his chest.

"Nah… Would've been more fun if they'd remembered me," he growled. "Both had good head-jobs worked on 'em a while back. What they're doin' hangin' about together is buggin' me right out. Yer think the X-Geeks are pains in the ass, wait 'till those two get goin'. It's pissin' me off just thinkin' about it."

Realising he was preoccupied, a rare state of mind for a man who was almost solely motivated by instinct and rage, Mortimer's green, slightly shiny brow creased with puzzlement. Patting his huge comrade on the shoulder, he grinned gummily.

"Yeah, well don't think too hard, mate – y'know you'll only tire yourself out. Anyway, with what the gov has planned, the X-Geeks'll be so busy flapping about like headless chickens, that we won't have to worry about them."

*


	2. Part 2

*

Bobby Drake stood before the optical scanner that regulated access to Cerebro. He gave a small grin and his features shifted like liquid putty, eyes momentarily winking gold. Smooth teenaged skin gathered into the fine wrinkles of late middle age, hair receeding. The scanner zipped horizontal and vertical over the blue grey iris, emitting a short bleep.

"Welcome, Professor," a toneless computerised female voice intoned.

Shining deep blue skin and creeping scales replacing Xavier's paternal features, Mystique glided over the threshold. Pausing to gaze around at the vastness of the dull greyish dome housing the super computer, she quickly approached the control pannel and opened it. Faced with all manner of mechanisms and conduits, she pulled out a small defuser vial and attached it to the tube feeding a clear container. The swirling, semi-liquid blue substance within darkened to a noxious muddy green. Smiling, teeth startlingly white against her skin, the shapeshifter closed the pannel and rose to her feet. Her job was done. Wearing Bobby Drake's form, she had whispered seeping poison into Rogue's ear, leading her to believe she was no longer welcome at Xavier's School For The Gifted after accidentally half-killing Wolverine. The mutant teenager with the deadly skin had already fled, the ensuing scramble to prevent her leaving Westchester giving Mystique ample opportunity to boobytrap Xavier's machine. Without their precious Professor, the X-Men would fall into disarray. With a single thought, she bade her malleable flesh return to Bobby's form and left.

*

Arms locked around Logan's waist, listening as he flung curses into the wind and ground his teeth, Helena shook her head to clear the hair from her eyes. The leafy back lanes leading to the main Westchester highway tore past in a green brown blur as Cyclops's motorcycle roared along. Shifting her weight as the bike hugged a sharp corner, she hooked her chin over his shoulder.

"It's not your fault," she yelled over the engine noise and the hissing rush of air. "The kid's confused and upset."

A growl, barely audible over the wind, reached her ears. Hunkered down over the handlebars, Logan eyed an unusual switch set with a red light. 

_It's my fault the kid's run,_ he thought. _Should've locked the damn door, should've told her I wasn't angry. Shit…_

"Hey!" Helena's voice, accompanied by a hard squeeze to the stomach broke in on his thoughts. "You pack that in. With noses like ours, we'll find her, no probs."

He growled again, wishing that the bike could go faster. Much as he disliked it, he felt responsible. Finding his attention drawn to the inviting switch, he wondered what it was for.

"For Chrissake, just press the bloody button!"

Frowning, Logan thumbed the switch. The motorcycle seemed to gather itself beneath him, the speedometer needle leaping to a hundred and fifty and way beyond. Lips peeled back over his teeth, face stinging in the biting wind, Wolverine exclaimed with fierce delight, echoed by a whoop at his back.

*

"You should've waited," Scott Summers said, scanning the chattering throngs of commuters for a hooded figure. "This is just the opportunity Magneto needs to snatch you."

Helena wrinkled her nose and ignored the comment, inhaling deeply to try to catch Rogue's trail. The meaty stench of old hotdogs, burnt train fuel and decomposing newspaper swirled to the scent receptors in her brain. On arrival at the station, she and Logan had split up to cover more ground. Crossing the foyer by the crowded seating area, she had bumped into Cyclops, who was wearing his visor and a disapproving frown. 

"Nice scoot, by the way, Cyke," she said. "Moves like a dream… love the turbo thingy."

"Don't get too attached to it," Scott sniffed, smothering his pride at the compliment.

The English mutant grinned, gaze skipping over the huge seating area to the ticket office, where Ororo was questioning the clerk. Her smile faded as she saw an instantly recognisable figure lumbering towards the weather goddess, tossing people aside like rag dolls. Panic took less then ten seconds to break out amongst the flatscans queuing for tickets. Sabretooth clamped a black-clawed paw around Storm's throat, lifting her from her feet.

"Scream for me," he growled, basso profundo voice dripping menace as he slammed her head into the glass partition.

The thin glass broke, creating a halo of jagged cracks radiating out from the Ororo's milk white hair as she choked and gasped for breath.

"HEY, YOU! YEAH, YOU – THE OVERGROWN KITTY CAT!"

Hearing an English voice cutting through the clamour of the station, Creed turned to see a black-clad figure racing towards him. The woman he knew as Raven struck the air with both balled fists, adamantium claws shooting out with a metallic click. Attention diverted, he did not see Storm's chocolate eyes snap silver, tiny forks of lightning snaking through her white locks.

Startled by Creed's sudden appearance, Cyclops lifted a hand to his visor, yelling at Helena to get out of the line of fire. Her attention caught by a blur of movement at the juncture of a structural column and the glass-panelled roof, she saw Toad open his mouth and cried a warning. The amphibian mutant's elastic tongue hissed out and slapped off Scott Summer's visor. Without the ruby quartz to regulate it, the optic blast was uncontrollable. Cyclops cried out as twin beams of sizzling crimson ripped from his eyes, punching holes in the station roof. 

"Shit," Helena muttered as the X-Men's leader recoiled from the shower of shattered glass and debris, eyes screwed shut. "That's Fearless Leader out for the count."

A darted glance telling her Toad was out of reach, her nostrils twitched with the acrid scent of burning ozone and she looked up to see a boiling mass of dark cumulonimbus cloud. Angry black and corpulent, the largest cloud began to swell for an imminent lightning strike.

"Uh-oh," she breathed, extremely aware that her metal-coated skeleton made her a walking conductor.

Feeling his hair stand on end with static electricity, Sabretooth threw back his head and roared with thwarted fury as a forked bolt of lightning scorched through the broken roof and struck his chest. Automatically dropping his prisoner, Creed flew backwards and crashed straight through the opposite wall, raining chunks of masonry. Silently thanking Storm for her impeccable aim, Helena looked about for Cyclops's visor. Smelling something vaguely mossy and reminiscent of pond life, her head snapped up and she pivoted on one heel. Mortimer Toynbee thudded into the concrete, mutant leg musculature absorbing the shock of his impact. 

"Missed!" he snarled, greenish lips curling over tiny yellow-tinged teeth. "Bloody northern bint."

For a fraction of a moment, speckled brown newt-like eyes met hazel green. Before she could respond to the unconsciously projected thoughts, Toad hawked a gob of radioactive-green spit at her feet and bounded away, leaping through the hole in the wall left by his comrade. Gagging, trying to force air past her crushed windpipe, Storm wheezed and pointed to Scott's visor, which lay under a dusty chunk of rubble.

"No!" Helena yelled, to the weather goddess's amazement. "It's not us they're after! They want Rogue!"

Before the dazed X-Men could question her conclusion, she retracted her claws, looked wildly around, and sprinted away towards the platforms housing departing trains. 

*

"The first boy ah kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks," Rogue stated, her voice thick with tears. "Ah can still feel him inside mah head… an' it's the same with you."

She looked away, bottom lip quivering as she stared out of the train window. Her brown eyes closed and the tears came, running down her cheeks to drip from her chin. Wordlessly, Logan reached out and looped his arm around her trembling shoulders. She resisted, frightened of contact, worried she may inadvertantly hurt him. All at once, she collapsed against him, face buried in his shoulder, sobbing. Cradling her hooded head, he drew a deep breath, wishing Helena were there to provide more suitable comfort than a taciturn loner like him could. 

"There's not many people who'll understand what yer goin' through. But I think this guy, Xavier, is one of them," he said quietly. "He seems to genuinely want to help you. And that's a rare thing, for people like us."

Rogue looked up at him hopefully, huge fawn eyes so full of pain that Logan felt his heart twist with sympathy. She sniffled a little and gulped some air to control her sobs.

"Okay, so whaddaya say we give these geeks one more shot?"

Marie did not reply, torn between running as far away as she could and allowing herself to hope for an understanding home. 

"C'mon," Logan cajoled, lowering his voice as if imparting a great secret. "I'll take care of you."

"You an' Helena?" the teenager whispered hesitantly.

"Well, me an' her aren't…" he began, realising she assumed they were a couple. Seeing her brow pleat, he nodded quickly. "Yeah, me an' Hels, kid. We'll look after yer."

"Ya promise?" she prodded, desperate to trust

"Yeah, I promise," he vowed.

The train began to move off, trundling slowly forward towards the end of the platform. Abruptly, the wheels shrieked discordantly and the entire carriage stopped, trembling like an unbroken horse. Ceiling pannels groaned and buckled, an aluminium suitcase rattling inside the luggage compartment. The lights flickered and died, passengers stared about in confusion. Mutters of bewilderment rose to shrieks of terror as the entire roof peeled away like the lid of a sardine tin, cascading sprays of bright sparks. Leaping into the aisle, hazel eyes darting, ears ringing with the screech of tearing metal, Logan saw a caped figure floating through the gloom. His claws snapped out, prompting fresh wails of fear from the passengers. Grey eyes crinkled with amusment, Magneto executed a neat landing through the torn end of the carriage.

"Ah, you must be Wolverine," he observed in a mellifluous voice more suited to a Royal Shakespeare Company actor. "But no Raven? What a shame."

Inclining his helmeted head, the master of magnetism regarded the Canadian mutant's claws with interest. Logan went to lunge, only to find he could not move.

"That remarkable metal doesn't run through your entire body, does it?" he asked, extending a hand.

Snarling with fury as his arms spread wide against his will, adamantium claws flexing and twisting out of shape, Wolverine's features contorted. Slowly, his feet left the floor. Rogue began to scream as she saw how much the manipulation of his claws was hurting him. 

"STOPPIT! STOPPIT!"

Catching a flash of movement behind Magneto, the Southern girl saw Helena Draven clambering noiselessly into the ruined carriage. Hazel green eyes widening with shock as she saw Logan suspended in midair, groaning between clenched teeth, she stretched out a hand. Seconds ticked by and her forehead crinkled as she realised his helmet was blocking her telepathy. Unable to disorientate him psionically, she frowned and tried a different approach. 

Chin lifting as he felt a strong telekinetic impulse slice through his magnetic field to tug at his helmet, Magneto flung a hand out behind him. With a startled yell, the Englishwoman sailed over his head like a yo yo on a string, limbs pinwheeling. 

"Ah, Miss Draven, so good of you to come," he purred urbanely, eyes narrowing. "I believe you have acquired adamantium… Let's see, shall we?"

Inch by inch, pushing through resisting muscle and flesh, her claws reluctantly emerged from between her knuckles. Hanging upside down, long hair trailing on the carpet, she hissed between her teeth with pain. Magneto gestured and flipped her upright like a coin. With a flick of his index finger, he sent her cannonballing into Logan, knocking the breath from them both. Glued to his chest, barely able to draw breath, she struggled vainly as her arms came up, claws inexorably moving towards the Canadian's temples.

"What d'yer want with us?" Wolverine demanded as the tips of her claws pricked his skin.

"It's not us the bastard wants!" Helena gritted near his ear, jaw aching with the effort of speaking. _'Marie! Run!'_

Magneto chuckled softly, an indulgent teacher faced with misguided questions from a deluded child. 

"My dear boy, whoever said I wanted you?" he asked, grey eyes moving to rest on a terrified, tearful teenager.

With a careless wave of his hand, he sent the clawed mutants hurtling down the carriage like missiles from a slingshot. Galvanised by the loud crash, Marie scrambled from her seat and ran as fast as she could, heart pounding. Released from Magneto's belt, zipping quicksilver through the air, a full hypodermic pursued her. Sinking to the barrel into her neck, it delivered a large dose of sedative. Rogue dropped like she had been knee-capped.

"Young people," Erik Lenscharr scoffed, striding towards his unconscious prize.

Attention diverted, the immobilising magnetic field waned enough for Helena to pull her head from beneath Logan's chin. 

"Get yer fuckin' knee outta my crotch," he hissed hoarsely, spitting out a mouthful of her hair. "I'm gonna kill him!"

Ignoring him, the English mutant's eyes narrowed to intense slits as she strove to dislodge Magneto's protective helmet. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she strained to counteract the enormously powerful magnetic force holding it down. It lifted a centimetre or two and wobbled, then plunged back down into place as Erik reinforced the field surrounding his body. 

"You, my dear, are just as troublesome as Mr Creed warned," he boomed. 

His hand snapped up and she flew back against the bulkhead above Logan, skull striking home with a resounding clang. She groaned and dropped heavily across the Canadian's chest, eyes rolling back in her head. Pinned by her adamantium-enhanced weight, torn metal and an inescapable magnetic field, Wolverine could only watch helplessly as a green-skinned mutant bounded into the carriage and carried Rogue away. 

*

Dozens of gun mechanisms clicked as they were cocked by invisible hands, floating in the air before astonished, petrified policemen. The crushed remains of four squad cars see-sawed gently, bathed in flashing red and blue lights. Sabretooth's huge paw wrapped around his throat, Magneto gazed calmly at the ring of flatscan faces. At his side, Toad turned slowly like a radio-controlled manniquin and began to walk away. Rogue hung limply over his shoulder, wrapped in a zip-up bodybag.

"Fire," Erik said softly, almost reverently.

People shrieked as a gun went off, the deafening report echoing. From his limousene behind the police lines, the Professor flinched, but did not relinquish his telepathic hold over Magneto's henchmen. At his side, Jean shot him an anxious glance, hands knotted in her lap. 

_'He stopped the bullet,'_ Xavier observed.__

"Come now, Charles," the master of magnetism said cheerfully. "I don't think I can stop them all."

Breathing fast and shallow, the unfortunate police officer stared at the bullet spinning in place scant milimetres from the centre of his forehead. He whimpered, feeling an increasing circle of heat as the point of the bullet touched his skin. In the chauffer-driven Bentley, Xavier's jaw tightened with frustration as his bluff was called. Sighing, he severed the mental bonds bypassing free will. With a surprised grunt, Victor Creed shook his head and blinked. Realising he was strangling his boss, he apologetically let go. Toad straightened and squinted short-sightedly, shifting the boneless weight slung over his shoulder.

"You're not willing to make sacrifices, Charles" Erik said contemptuously, glancing skywards at the approaching helicopter piloted by Mystique. "And that makes you weak."

Unwilling to endanger the lives of the police, the Professor watched as the Brotherhood climbed into their stolen helicopter. It rose into the cloudy night, the whump of rotar blades almost drowning out the clatter of gunmetal as dozens of firearms dropped to the floor. Shaken and disbelieving, hardly able to comprehend what they had witnessed, the police began to pick their way towards what remained of the train station.

*

"I thought yer said he was after us?!" Logan snarled, splashing cold water onto his face from the basin in his room.

He had been forced to watch from the sidelines as Magneto held half the county's police force hostage with their own guns, Rogue slung over Toad's shoulder like a trussed sacrificial lamb. Along with Storm and Cyclops, the two clawed mutants had sneaked out of the station's side exit. Quickly bypassing the police lines in the confusion, they had seen cars thrown like dinky toys and bullets stopped mid-flight. Even the Professor's mind-controlling telepathy had not been enough to prevent the Brotherhood Of Mutants making their escape.

"I'm sorry, I made a terrible mistake," the Professor admitted. "His helmet seems to be designed to somehow block my telepathy."

Quivering with contained rage, adamantium knuckles showing mercury through the skin, he tossed a glance at Helena.

"C'mon, Hels. We'll find the kid."

"How?" Xavier questioned.

"The traditional way," Logan snapped.

"Look!" Helena finished.

The English mutant followed him as he stalked out of the room, shooting back a glare containing equal fury. Unable to follow down the stairs in his wheelchair, Xavier listened as Ororo ran after them, snowy hair streaming behind her.

"Wait!" the weather goddess called. "You can't do this alone!"

Skidding to a halt on the smooth varnished floor, Ororo fought a sudden nip of anxiety as they turned to look at her. She was put in mind of the alpha male and female of a wolf pack, prepared to do anything to protect a lost cub.

"Who's gonna help?" Helena demanded coldly, already buttoning her long leather coat. "You? So far you've done a bang-up job."

"Then help _us_, fight with us!" Storm entreated, brown eyes darting from one to the other. 

They paused at the door and regarded the African mutant with varying degrees of incredulity. Helena clicked her tongue stud and folded her arms, studying the other woman's expression. Logan shook his head and took a step towards the weather witch.

"What? Join the team, be an X-Man?" he snorted dismissively. "Look at yer – who the hell d'yer think yer are? Yer a mutant. The whole world out there's full of people that hate an' fear yer, an' yer wastin' yer time tryin' ta protect them? I dunno about Hels, but I got better things ta do."

"Y'know, Magneto's right," the English mutant said suddenly, her hand resting on the brass door handle. "There is a war coming – you sure you're on the right side?"

Storm's jaw tightened and she regarded the clawed mutants steadily, gathering her composure. She had half-expected such a reaction from Logan, but had thought Helena to possess more restraint. It appeared the iron control exercised by the psionically gifted did not always extend to her temper and feral instincts.

"At least I've chosen a side," she said with dignity and conviction.

Huffing, throwing up a hand, Logan flicked a glance at Helena, who yanked open the door in preparation to leave. A bedraggled, dripping-wet man with white hair staggered over the threshold.

"I need to see Dr Jean Grey!" he gasped, clutching at Logan's shoulder like a drowning man.

The Canadian's brow furrowed with bewilderment and he looked around questioningly, feeling a wet patch seeping through his jacket from the grasping hand.

"He's that Senator bloke!" Helena exclaimed in disbelief, watching as he collapsed onto the black and white marble tiles of the entry. "The one who's pushing for mutant registration."

The three mutants peered down at the exhausted, terrified man as if he was something nasty trodden in on the soles of their shoes. Storm stepped back as a puddle of water grew around his body, soaking the toes of her suede boots. 

"What is the matter with him?"

*

Shaken, despite his external composure, the Professor removed his fingers from the cold, slightly damp forehead of the trembling, mortally-afraid man on the medical bed. Mind overflowing with images of transformative, retina-scorching white light and spinning metal rings, he sat back in his wheelchair. Wordlessly, Jean stepped forward and tended to her patient. Senator Robert Kelly twitched like a beaten dog, body racked with needling pain as his cellular structure decomposed beneath the onslaught of a flawed forcible mutation. 

"Is that a real memory?" an English voice asked, words underlined with dismay.

Xavier turned, realising Helena had picked up on the telepathic exchange. Her psionic abilities were much more acute than he had originally estimated. He nodded sombrely, seeing the young woman's eyes widen at the concept of a machine capable of turning normal humans into mutants. 

"Jesus," she muttered, shaking her head. "This Magneto is definitely two biscuits short of a packet."The Professor watched her exchange glances with Logan, noting how they each unconsciously curled a fist at their sides. Both clawed mutants were agitated, unnerved by their encounter with Magneto. Erik had manipulated their limbs with the ease of a child jerking a marionette's strings. Delving into their surface thoughts, Xavier read their protective concern for Rogue and felt a sharp pang of guilt.

_I was so sure he was after them. I didn't see the truth until it was too late. Why do you want the child, Erik…?_

Prostrate on the pod-legged medical bed, the senator looked at the assembled mutants with mingled fear and longing. He could feel himself gradually dissolving, treacherous cells losing their cohesiveness, breaking down into water and simple protein sequences. Eyes gelid and sticky within their orbits, he looked at Dr Grey and Professor Xavier, collected and professional as only scientists could be. His gaze locked briefly with that of the astonishingly beautiful white-haired South African woman and he was dumbfounded to read sympathy there. Guarded disdain radiated from the muttonchop-bearded man with fierce hazel eyes, though Kelly believed he was paying close attention to his surroundings. The pale Englishwoman was studying him dispassionately, twining a lock of her unruly curly hair around her index finger like a child. She barely looked older than his own daughter. He could discern nothing of what the young, neatly groomed man in red glasses thought, emotion hidden behind reflective lenses. It occurred to Robert Kelly that he was going to die, surrounded by the people who had most reason to hate him. The same people had taken him in and tended to him as best they could.

_Was I wrong? _he asked. _Was I wrong about them all along?_

Nobody answered and he was left alone in the cool, antiseptic twilight of the medbay, listening as his life trickled away and dripped onto the floor.

*


	3. Part 3

"Why does Magneto want her?" Helena asked the room at large, leaving her chair to pace. Almost walking straight into Logan, who was similarly engaged, she glared. "She's a muddled teenager, not a super-duper uber-mutant." She stopped and shook her head, voice growing quieter, almost forlorn. "She's just a kid." _It's not like she's forgotten half her life and has unsavoury characters like Sabretooth who seem to know more about her than she does. If it was Mr Happy over there the Brotherhood wanted, or even me, we'd stand a fighting chance. Shit… please, God, don't let them hurt her…_

From his position behind his desk, Xavier watched the English mutant hug her elbows and worry. Tension betrayed by his tight grip on the arms of his wheelchair, the Professor bit back a sigh.

"I don't know," he admitted sadly. 

Logan snorted, scowl deepening as he folded his arms and leaned back on the doorjamb. A dark indent appeared above Scott Summer's ruby quartz Oakleys and he sat up straight with dawning comprehension.

"Wait!" he exclaimed. "You said using the machine weakened Magneto?"

"Yes," Xavier agreed. "In fact, it nearly killed him."

"He's gonna transfer his power ta Rogue an' use her ta run the machine," Logan finished grimly.

Nobody spoke for a long moment, inwardly processing the revelation. Darkness had not long fallen and the buzzing activity of the school day had slowed as the students gathered in small groups to study and socialise. Bobby Drake had knocked at the office door a little while earlier, asking if they had found Rogue. Hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy khaki skate pants, his face had fallen and he hurriedly left. Glittering hexagonal ice crystals dotted the floor where he had stood, unconsciously produced by his heightened emotion. Bringing his strategic mind to bear, the Professor broke the silence.

"Cyclops, ready the jet. Jean – find Logan and Helena some uniforms," he instructed, trundling out from behind his desk. "I'm going to locate Rogue."

Jean stood, smoothing her knee-length black dress. Sensing reluctance from her fiancé, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Hold on, Professor," Scott protested, expression serious. "I don't think that's a good idea. They'll endanger the mission."

Before Xavier could respond, Logan unfolded his arms and wheeled about to confront the younger man.

"I wasn't the one who gave the train station a new sunroof, pal," he growled, bristling.

"No," Summers retorted instantly. "You just stabbed Rogue through the chest."

Sighing inwardly, Helena regarded the creamy plaster ceiling and counted to ten in her head. Finding it was not helping, she tried it backwards. 

"Yeah? Well, yer can take yer little mission an' stick it – "

"Oh, shut it, the pair of you!" she snapped irritably. "You can wave your dicks at each other after all this is sorted out!"

Jean blinked once, slightly taken aback by the Englishwoman's blunt tone, and was obliged to smother a grin at the matching expressions of surprise on the two men's faces. Scott opened his mouth to rattle off a rejoinder, only to be deprived of the opportunity as the door banged open.

"Senator Kelly is dead," Storm burst out, brown eyes filled with dismay.

Xavier absorbed the news without comment and leaned forward in his wheelchair, encompassing everyone in the room with a stern frown.

"Settle this," he ordered with the firmness of someone accustomed to authority. 

With that, he touched the control lever on his wheelchair and droned out of the room. Jaw clamped, Scott strode out after him, simmering with anger. 

"Storm – we've gotta get the jet ready," he informed the weather goddess curtly as he passed.

Wordlessly, the African woman nodded serenely and followed him towards the sublevels. Jean turned and trained her grey green eyes on the two clawed mutants.

"I've a uniform that should fit you, Helena," she announced. "And one of Scott's should do for Logan… Meet me in the foyer in ten minutes."

As soon the door clicked to behind the red-haired doctor, Logan turned to Helena, who was staring out of the window over the vast wooded expanse of the school grounds. 

"She can forget about that," he stated firmly. "Yer not comin' on this little jaunt. It's too dangerous."

The Englishwoman turned around, eyebrows escalating, and her hands crept to her hips indignantly.

"Excuse me," she said sharply. "Run that one by me again – did you just try to tell me what to do?"

Logan scowled, realising that he had just made the mistake of attempting to govern her actions. It had not worked in a year of travelling around Canada, and often as not led to heated arguments.

"Darlin', this isn't the same as beatin' up on rednecks," he offered by way of justification. "These Brotherhood fuckers are serious – Magneto stinks ta high heavens of fanaticism."

She inclined her head, features hidden in the shadows cast by her hair. Logan did not need to see her expression to know he had angered her – he could smell it, slow-burning with increasing intensity. Leaving the window, she rounded the desk and strode up to him, so close the tips of their boots were almost touching. Her chin lifted so their gazes locked, neither one willing to back down.

"What makes you think I'm not serious, sunshine?" she breathed icily. "You think I'm gonna sit here and crochet a blanket while Marie's being stuck in that awful machine?"

Her stormy eyes narrowed with an impressive degree of menace, giving Logan pause for thought. He growled quietly, infusing it with enough vehemence to let her know he meant what he said. She growled back. 

"Hels, yer can't intimidate me," he said, feeling his skin prickle as her telekinetic field leapt, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Maybe not," she agreed, flashing a humourless grin. "But there are things I _can_ do to you that'll make you change your stubborn Canuck mind."

Her hands came to rest on the worn lapels of his leather jacket and she leaned a little closer, so close that Wolverine thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, her eyes flickered, pupils dilating, and he flew back like he had been sucker punched in the stomach. Colliding with the wall, he grunted as the air whooshed from his lungs. Glaring, he looked down and saw a large gap between his feet and the floor. 

"Alright, yer've made yer damn point," he grumbled as she splayed her fingers and moved him about the wall like a fridge magnet. "Put me down already."

She shrugged and dropped her hand, releasing her telekinetic hold. Logan barely had time to register he was falling before he hit the floor, automatically bending his knees to absorb the impact. Beneath the rich paisley carpet, the wooden floorboards groaned alarmingly, unused to such treatment. 

"So that's all settled then," Helena observed, a wry twinkle in her eyes. "Besides, who would you rather have watching your arse – me or Fearless Leader…?"

Seeing his half-sneer at the thought of relying on Scott Summers for backup, she nodded knowingly and crossed to the open door. 

"We'll work it like we usually do," she promised, laying an appeasing hand on his arm. "No different than poker hustling – you watch my back, I'll watch yours. Magneto's pet moggy apparently knows we're trouble, so let's not disappoint."

Logan nodded reluctant agreement, realising that in some ways he still saw her as the underfed barmaid he had grudgingly given a ride. He jerked his chin in the direction of the corridor.

"Ladies first," he invited. "I wanna see yer get yer ass inta one o'those tight leather uniforms."

"You mean you wannna see _Jean's_ arse in one of those uniforms," she corrected with a derisive snort. "'Tight' and 'leather' being the operative words here."

He smirked unrepentantly as they walked with distance-eating strides along the wide corridor, passing the outsize ornamental plants in clay pots that were favoured decorations in the school. Helena guessed they were Ororo Munroe's influence, bringing her beloved nature indoors with swaths of pampered foliage. 

"Whoa, pack that in before you make me retch," she rebuked with mock severity, catching Logan's imaginative constructs of Jean Grey in a figure-hugging X uniform. 

Drawing breath to retort, the Canadian caught her by the arm as she suddenly cried out and staggered, a hand flying to her forehead. 

"Hels! Y'alright?"

"Shitshitshitbastard," she ground out, features blanched 

Clamping a hand onto Logan's arm for support, she hauled herself straight. Concerned, he took hold of her shoulders and bent to look into her face.

"Y'alright? What the hell was that?"

A modicum of colour returning to her features, she waved him away and took several deep, cleansing breaths. 

"It's the Prof," she said, eyes glazed and disorientated. "He's just broadcast pain with the volume jacked up past ten… damn, that hurt."

Hurrying around the corner, Helena stumbling a little, they came across Jean. The auburn-haired doctor was partially collapsed against the concealed entrance to the sublevel elevator, leaning her forehead against the cool reddish wood. 

"Something wrong… with Cerebro," she said faintly, pushing herself upright.

At that moment, the hidden door hissed back into its aperture, revealing a distraught Storm in the white cylindrical interior. Mocha skin pale, the weather witch all but dragged Jean into the elevator.

"Jean!" she cried. "Come quickly – it's Charles!"

*

Jean Grey wrenched open the service hatch set into Cerebro's walkway and peered at the confusing array of tubes, cylinders and conduits. Beneath her, the spherical expanse of the magnification chamber dropped away into shadowy oblivion. It had taken her a long time to become accustomed to the drop, to be able to walk in without casting nervous glances at the unfenced sides of the walkway. Frowning at the dull, murky brown sludge clogging the clear Perspex container, she removed the defuser vial and set the mechanism to auto clean. Within moments, the colour returned to its usual bright cerulean.

_What if Charles doesn't recover,_ she fretted. _What will we do without him? All my tests indicate he should be awake, but there's nothing. I can't even sense him…_

Sighing, the sound echoing and multiplying in the vastness, the telekinetic doctor rubbed a hand across her brow, her chunky silver bracelet jingling quietly. 

"Fixed your big round room yet?" a female voice asked.

Jean looked up to see Helena Draven standing a few feet from her, dark head cocked enquiringly. Sitting back on her heels, Jean pushed a wing of auburn hair from her eyes.

"How did you get down here?" she asked neutrally.

"Oh, I filched the access code from Cyke's mind," the Englishwoman shrugged nonchalantly. "Y'know for the boy toy of a telepath, his shields should be better."

Suppressing a flare of indignation, realising she was edgy and irritable because of what had happened to the Professor, Jean closed the hatch. 

"Don't you have ethics over that sort of thing?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

Eyes hardening, Helena's spine stiffened and she took another step forward, metal-heeled boots clicking tinnily on the walkway. 

"Don't you?" she retorted evenly. "Don't think I haven't sensed you skimming Logan's mind at every opportunity. Be careful, Jean – don't send out misleading signals. It's not a good idea to mess with Logan's head."

Getting to her feet, Jean smoothed her black knee length skirt and regarded the other woman, trying to conceal her discomfort. It was disconcerting to have another telepath make such blunt observations. The Professor sensed much and usually said little unless he believed a situation required immediate intervention. Stretching out a thought to probe the English mutant's emotions, Jean encountered the dense, opaque carapace of her mental shielding. In the absence of a telepathic assessment, Jean read her body language. Detecting a note of casually masked aggression in the straight back and folded arms, she realised she had no idea when talk would transmute into physical confrontation.

"Chill, doc," Helena said with a small, wryly amused grin. "If I wanted to kick your arse, you wouldn't have time to think about it. I'm not quite as much of a violence-junkie as the Wolverine. In fact, I'm surprisingly approachable… so what's the upshot? All I wanna know is if I'm going to be toddling on my merry way alone when all this is over. 'Cos unlikely as it is that Logan'll stay here, in a school of all places, he has an annoying habit of doing what you least expect. And like most men, it's not his brain he thinks with."

Jean's chin tucked in, finding herself once again taken aback by the Englishwoman's directness. Used to dealing with the intrigues and double-talk of the political arena, such frankness was almost shocking, and, she decided, refreshing. Resolving to respond in kind, she drew a breath.

"I find him… interesting," she admitted. "And I would be lying if I said I didn't find him somewhat attractive. But I would never jeopardise my relationship with Scott."

"No," Helena murmured, eyes making the familiar involuntary tracking movements of a scanning telepath. "I don't think you would."

Expression softening, she unfolded her arms, the implicit threat dropping from her demeanour. The behaviour was entirely unconscious, and in Jean's opinion partially due to living on the road with a volatile, abrasive travelling companion. Unlike Logan, she did not habitually carry herself with an aggressive confidence that bordered on arrogance, but when roused her eyes gained a certain cold gleam that spoke volumes.

"I didn't come here to start a catfight, Jean," Helena revealed. "Or to grill you… I just wanted to say I'm sorry, about the Professor, I mean. He's a good man."

"Yes," the doctor said with a small, worried sigh. "Yes he is."

Helena gestured towards Cerebro's skullcap headpiece with her index finger.

"You need any help with that?" she asked.

Shaking her head, Jean ran her fingertips over the coiled tubing attached to the headset. The technical specifications of the super computer took months to breakdown and understand.

"No, thank you. I've already repaired the damage."

"That's not what I meant," the English mutant elaborated. "We still need to track Rogue, and you've said yourself you can't use this gizmo without frying your synapses. No offence, but my TP is more advanced than yours – I'll probably be able to use Cerebro with less risk."

Jean shook her head again, feeling irrationally protective and unwilling to allow a virtual stranger to use the Professor's greatest technological accomplishment when he lay comatose. 

"Maybe later. I've a few adjustments to make," she lied.

If Helena sensed the lie, she did not comment, but shrugged and turned to leave, looking around the vastness of Cerebro's dome with interest. 

"Okay. Give me a shout. I'll go and make sure the boys haven't throttled each other then."

Watching her reach the threshold, the soft black fabric of her combat pants worn almost threadbare at the seat, Jean felt compelled to call her back.

"You don't have to, you know," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Leave, I mean. When this is over, you could stay. I've seen you with the children – they like you. The Professor is always looking for additions to the staff."

Helena turned back, eyebrows escalating with astonishment. She appeared genuinely amused and incredulous.

"What, be a teacher? You've got to be kidding. I can turn my hand to a lot of things, but _teaching_?!"

"It's something to consider," Jean returned evenly. "You can't live on the road forever. We'll help you develop your gifts and perhaps recover your memories. Surely that's a reason to stay?"

The English mutant frowned thoughtfully, gaze downcast, lower lip held lightly between her teeth.

"Maybe," she allowed. "I'll think it over."

"That's all I ask," Jean soothed.

Helena nodded to signify she understood and stepped within sensor range of the door. It sighed open with a hiss of hidden hydraulics and she stepped through. As it closed behind her, Jean picked up the headset and looked at it, steeling herself. Carefully looking around, she lowered it onto her auburn hair and pressed the contacts to her temples. With shaking fingers, she reached for the activation switch.

*


End file.
